Africa Overland in stages. Our 4th stage leads us finally away from the beloved Sukuta camping and car park at Banjul, Gambia. We were heading down the West coast up to Accra, the capital of Ghana.This continues the story of 8N 12W.

The direction looks good. A small dirt road leads us northward. We turned off the main route Zimmi - Monrovia at Sinje. The sight of an UN-Police Landcruiser reminded us of the travel advice at the homepage of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs: The security situation in Liberia remains volatile. Only with the help of the UN mission UNMIL (United Nation Mission in Liberia) the local authorities are able to provide stability. Journeys to the interior should be avoided and one should contact the German embassy at Monrovia before set off. And we plan to visit a confluence here...

Rainstorms and villages alternate. The bridges are "donated by the Republic of Germany". But the one behind Mbaloma would no longer pass the German quality certification. We took the passage through the water, which looked actually not dramatic. But we overlooked a stream beside the lane. The photographer holds his breath as the Landcruiser starts to tip. Bernd's straight reaction prevents us from a disaster.

"They did certainly not drive through the water." A few meters down the road a truck which probably brings three times the weight of our Toyo is parked at the beginning of the village Genehbrown. "Yes, we took the bridge. Do you think there is a problem?" The crew is astonished about Bernd's question. Again it's proofed that African quality guidelines don't stick to German safety rules.

After 26 kilometers just behind Genehbrown the dirt road is turning west. We don't come closer to the Confluence than three kilometers. We ask for permission to stay for the night next door. Without any questions they show us a flat parking place. This time we can avoid the questioning ceremony of the Council of Elders because the village boss is still outside on his field. Until he returns, showers, and eats his dinner, we are already sleeping.

Another reason why the village boss takes his time to visit us at the edge of the village is the local trade relations. "We are from Monrovia and got stuck here since nine days." The owner of the single-truck freight forwarding company is angry. "The village boss made an agreement about loading wood. But there is no wood." Steve, his companion, is a civil engineer and wears a shirt of the German national soccer team. He got it as a present from the representative of the GTZ (German Society for Technical Cooperation) in Liberia. He is fan of Germany and is pleased to meet at least some Germans in the middle of the bush unexpectedly.

We are not the only whites out here. During the evening rain a 4x4 with exploration-label drives past. "A few kilometers down the road there is a gold mine. They make some exploration drillings." New Liberty, the new Bonanza of the English-Canadian mine company African Aura is called. What we don't know yet: These days they have started the production of 100,000 ounces per year.

Stevenson, the brother of the home-owner where we parked the car is ready to accompany us the next day for a bush walk. But in the morning he wants to consult the village boss first. The Council of Elders is doing the improvised conference upright. All members are already on the way into the fields. Nevertheless they want to know it exactly: "What are you looking for around Genehbrown?" Because there are of dozens of mining symbols on our Russian map along the close Mano River, we rather tell nothing about GPS coordinates and dubious confluence visits. "We do a walk off the tourist main tracks in each country we visit to get to know more about the people."

A giant tree is lying across the northern village exit. Months ago it blocked the path to the fields. The chain saw created a passage. The remaining of the valuable tropical wood is moldering. Along narrow paths the villagers are moving quickly to the fields kilometers away. Stevenson's brother overtakes us - he is heading also into the forest. Big clearings with cassava fields alternate with the last islands of tropical forest. A freshly harvested cocoa fruit is Stevenson's tasty provisions - we find it rather bitter. "This way leads into the forest!" Unfortunately Stevenson does not point towards the Confluence. After three junctions we must show him the GPS. He does not know exactly what he should think about a confluence visit. "There is no way in this direction." Nevertheless Bernd aka Winnetou traces even a whiff of a hunt path marked by old bent branches. And again through the scrub without a machete - we should have known better in the meantime. Stevenson is not enthusiastic about that. His hand is bleeding and his good trousers are dirty up to the knees. Nevertheless he walks in front - straight through swamps, across fences, trails through fields, and again into the bush. We climb over fallen down halms of a bamboo forest which are as thick as an arm. The "grass" we know as room plant grows 20 meters high here. Straight through the forest a fence out of plaited palm leaf and branches is put up. The farmers know to get advantage out of the hunger of the duiker on their crops: A surface-near hole in the fence permits the little antelope to slip through - directly into a catch out of twisted branches.

In the swampy palm forest behind the fence the GPS finally zeroes. "Congratulations on your first Confluence. That's like reaching the summit of a mountain." Stevenson smiles as Bernd shakes his hand. "Enough?"

The sightseeing tour we do on the way back: Emmaus just returns home carrying a bush rat for dinner. He lives outside here with his wife and his children in one of the simple farm houses in the middle of a cassava field. The tent-like hut out of wood and palm leafs is not more than a hideout. A few meters beside someone else is building a real house out of wood. A new village is built up. On easy foot paths we reach the junction where we should have turned right hours before. Here we meet Stevenson's brother again. He carries a full bag. The two start to talk in whispers. We fear late annoyance because of the confluence visit when Bernd discovers the duiker in the bag. The habitat of the forest antelope is reduced by clearing the tropical forests. The hunting pressure on their tender meat increases. The authorities speak of an alarming daily rate of uncontrolled and unauthorized killings of bush animals. Several kinds of duiker are protected.

Conclusion after four hours and 14.6 kilometers of cuts in the arms, mud in the socks, ant bites in the legs, and spider's webs in the faces: Marvellous wilderness, interested and friendly people, new horizons, and an excursion into an area we would not have visited without the Confluence.